Not to his surprise, but at least to his pleasure, Levin made the first move. "May I offer you a cigarette, Flowers?" [i]Flowers.[/i] Tom felt like kissing the Jew for providing him with an adequate way of addressing him. Impersonal but personal at the same time. Not offensive, not pleasant, and not inherently disrespectful - that was most important.

However, before Tom could answer the jeweller, Chasity did it for him. "I think," she said, "that Mr. Flowers only smokes cigars." He didn't respond to Chasity's question about Levin's jewellery. Truth is he did like the Jew's work, but preferred to get it from the Russian in Bethnal Green; Ludmil. The prices were roughly 80% cheaper than in-store, but that was likely because he was a jewel thief - the best in Western Europe, in fact - and had, on occasion, lifted some of Levin's pieces. Those were Tom's favourite in truth. He had a number of rings that came from Levin's hands but did not often wear them in the West End. Too many questions to ask, too many names to drop.

"She's right," said Tom, "but it would be poor form if I said no." He gave a light nod in appreciation and took a cigarette from Levin's case. He placed it between his lips and took out a match book from his breast pocket, struck one of the matches, and lit Chasity's cigarette. He did little more than grunt and nod to answer Chasity's smile before bringing the flame to his own cigarette.

After he put the match out, he turned to see Ashley approaching him with a handsome young man. Of the twins, Reggie was easily the more agreeable. He considered continuing the conversation with Levin and Chasity but they'd started off on their own topic, and it would be rude to turn away one of the infamous Krays. Even in the infancy of their criminal careers, they were known throughout the West End.

"Mr. Flowers," started Reggie, "good to see you again."
Tom's face remained unchanged. "Aye, it is." He nodded. "Done boxing, then?"
Reggie shrugged with a cheeky grin, "don't pay like you."
Tom winked at Reggie and looked at Ashley. "Where's the other one?"
"Fuckin' about with my cousin," Ashley replies with a nod to the stairs, "in the lounge."
Tom grunts and looks back at Reggie. "Got 'im under wraps, have ya?"
Reggie laughs, "Does anyone?"
Tom nods. "Right. Well, get a drink and fuck off, then."
The young Kray nods and heads to the other side of the bar, leaving Tom and Ashley. The chauffeur leans into Tom's side and says quietly, but somehow audibly to the pair at their side, "Yardie's 'round back."

[i]Yardie. Fuckin' Yardie. The Jamaican immigrant, Frayne's pitbull, the Shade of Shaftesbury,[/i] thought Tom, [i]and my mate from the bin. Fuckin' Yardie. Fuckin' DeShawn Crawford. Lord knows why he works for me and Mase when Solomon Aldridge - that fuckin' "black rights activist"-- more like a glorified fucking gangster - is just an hour's drive south. Kykes with kykes, blacks with blacks, all that race-bound loyalty bullshit[/i]. He didn't buy into it, really. He didn't hate the Jews because they were Jews, he hated the Jews because they cornered a profitable racket. He hated the blacks because they were romanticized terrorists. He hated everyone else because he was a miserable cunt. 

Tom nodded and flicked his chin towards the door. "Tell 'em I'll be a minute. Bring 'em a gin."

Ashley slapped Tom's shoulder and left the hotel with a bottle of Tanqueray Dry Gin.

Tom turned to Chasity as he watched Henry Adler storming over in a huff. [i]A kyke,[/i] he thought [i]and now a muppet.[/i]